The Wishing Season (11 page)

“I’m saving my energy for tomorrow.” PJ pulled Ava closer, breathing in her sweet baby scent.

On the court nearby the game of two-on-two grew louder as Madison protested Ryan’s block.

Joanne McKinley stopped by the table, arms out for baby Ava. “You’ve had her long enough. Come here, sugars.”

“Say hi to Grammy.” PJ handed off the baby.

The eight-month-old gave a gummy smile and kicked excitedly. “Ga, ga, ga!”

“Where’s Mia?” PJ asked Jade as their mom made off with her Ava.

“Daniel’s changing her diaper. She had apple juice today . . .”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“Let’s just say he might be awhile. So, I saw in the paper that Brad Wilshire was arrested yesterday. Isn’t he the guy who did your renovations?”

“He was arrested? What for?”

“He was doing some work for Bernadette Perkins, and she caught him stealing her antique jewelry. You’re lucky he didn’t rob you blind. Not that you had much to take.”

The cookware. Brad had stolen her cookware. She was sure it was long gone. It had been a month and a half. “I guess you’re right.”

“So, no more Fiona’s Fudge Shoppe, huh?”

“Yesterday was my last day. At least I hope it was. If things get slow over the winter, I’ll have to take a part-time job.”

“Are you ready for the grand opening? Mom said everything looks great.”

“Layla did an amazing job. I loaded up on fresh produce from the farmers market. The walk-in’s full of quality meat, and the staff is trained and scheduled. I just hope people show up.”

“Well, you know the family’s coming. And that ad in today’s paper should attract a lot of customers. It was awesome.”

“It should’ve been—talk about expensive. Did you see the Grand Opening banner?”

“You can’t miss it. The community will support you. I’m sure it’ll be great . . .” There was something in her tone. Something about the way Jade’s green eyes darted away, toward the court, then down to her fingers as she laced them, her rings clinking together.

“But . . .”

“There’s no
but
.” Jade brushed the brownie crumbs from the checkered tablecloth. The bench squawked as she shifted.

PJ might not be a mind reader, but she knew when her sister was hiding something. “Out with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Does it have something to do with my opening?”

“Yes.”

“Then spill.”

Jade’s shoulders sank as she exhaled. “It’s not a bad thing. I
just didn’t want to make you nervous . . . You sure you want to know?”

PJ shot her a look.

“Daniel had an interview with the paper today. He found out they’re sending Maeve Daughtry to your grand opening.”

Dread congealed in PJ’s stomach like refrigerated chicken stock. “The restaurant reviewer?”

“So that’s great, right? She’ll be majorly impressed, write an awesome review, and people will come by the droves.”

“Or she’ll get bad service, overcooked steak, write a terrible review, and people will go to the Burger Barn.”

Jade elbowed PJ. “What has happened to our little Tigger?”

“She’s been cooped up in a dusty old mansion with her adversary.”

Jade tipped her head back, her eyes lighting knowingly. “Ahhhh . . .”

“Don’t
ah
me. It’s not like that.”

“That’s not what Madison said.”

PJ glared across the court at her oldest sister as she dodged Dad and put up a shot. “Seriously? Why don’t you two focus your romantic energies on Ryan? Cole’s got a girlfriend. He’s the last man I’d ever consider.” She’d learned her lesson about taken men.

“He’s awfully cute.”

Not the word PJ would’ve used. Hot, maybe. Appealing, definitely. Infuriating, sometimes. But he was kind, too, she thought, as she remembered the way he’d checked on her at the gas station and taken her to the hospital.

And now she knew he definitely hadn’t taken her cookware. Or flooded her dining room. She must’ve forgotten to close the window. It wouldn’t be the first absentminded thing she’d ever
done. She shook the thoughts from her head. She didn’t want to remember the way she’d accused him so boldly.

Daniel appeared, straddling the bench across from them, Mia balanced on his thick arm.

The baby held her arms out to Jade. “Ma, ma, ma, ma, ma!”

Jade reached across the table, taking her daughter. She kissed the girl’s chubby cheek.

Daniel scowled playfully at Jade. “You owe me for that one.”

“I’m not the one who fed her apple juice,” she said smugly.

Daniel swung his leg over the bench, facing them. “I heard you ended up at the ER this week. Feeling better?”

“They gave me Ativan for the panic attacks, but it makes me feel zoned out. I can’t afford that right now.”

“It’s a thyroid issue though?”

“Yeah, but they can’t really make the thyroid produce less hormone without killing the gland. We’re hoping it sorts itself out. Until then, I just have to deal. So Jade told me about Maeve Daughtry. Any tips on impressing her?”

“I hear she’s a sucker for great presentation and hates a long wait.”

“All right then. So fast and beautiful. If I can add scrumptious to that, it’ll be a home run.”

“It’ll be all that and more,” Jade said. “If there’s anything you can do, it’s cook.”

“Ga, ga, ga!”

“See, Mia agrees.”

PJ only hoped Maeve Daughtry felt the same.

Chapter Sixteen

PJ
DRIZZLED THE GARLIC BUTTER OVER THE RIB EYE
,
SPRINKLED
chopped parsley over it, and set it in the window. “Order’s up! Callie, how’s the risotto coming?”

“Perfect, Chef. Where’s Ronda? The tenderloins are dying.”

Ronda appeared at the window and grabbed the plates. “Sorry, I’m in the weeds. I need a baked potato on the fly.” And she was off.

“How long on the fettuccine?” PJ asked Nate.

“Two minutes, Chef.”

PJ turned to the next order. Filet, brisket, and tilapia. She worked on automatic, in her element. They were a good three hours into the opening, and she was running high on adrenaline. Everything was going like clockwork. Well, almost everything. She’d overcooked a sirloin, Nate had gotten a minor cut using one of her new Wüsthof knives, and a server had spilled a tray of coffee—thankfully not on anyone.

But they’d had a full house all evening and nothing but compliments so far. Her family had come and gone, peeking into the kitchen only long enough to rave about the food and service.

She brushed the hair from her damp forehead with the back of her gloved hand. She’d informed her staff about Maeve Daughtry before the doors had opened. The reviewer had been
seated fifteen minutes ago. She’d ordered the filet that was in the oven now.

“Coming through,” Callie said, whizzing past with a hot skillet.

A second later the kitchen went dark and quiet. The hum of the refrigeration unit, gone. The buzz of the heat lamps, silent. The grind of the blender, still.

“Chef?” Callie said.

A power outage?
Oh please, not now.

“It’s not storming,” Nate said. “The lights are still on in the dining room.” The only light filtering in came from the next room.

“Thank God.” PJ removed her gloves. “Okay, it must be a fuse or something. You just flip a switch, and it comes back on, right?” She did not have time for this.

“Don’t ask me,” Nate said. “I live in an apartment.”

“I think there’s a box, right?” Callie said. “Like in the basement or something?”

Heart pounding, PJ ran to the basement steps, only to find the lights down there were off too. She wasted precious time looking for a flashlight, all the while thinking of Maeve’s thick steak cooling in the oven.

She shone the light around the dank basement. “Come on, where are you?” If only her dad were still here. She would call him if she couldn’t figure it out quickly.

There in the corner. A big gray box. The door squeaked as she opened it. She frowned at the rows of black switches. Which one?

At a loss, she called her mom’s cell but there was no answer. The home phone went over to voicemail.

No.

She pocketed her phone, realizing her breath was coming too quickly. Panic rolled in like fog over the river.
No. Not now. Please, not now
. She tried to push it back.

Her heart raced, and her lungs worked to keep up. A sweat broke out on the back of her neck, despite the coolness of the basement. She bent over, planting her hands on her apron-covered knees. Why hadn’t she taken her meds?

Focus, PJ. You can do this. Breathe.

She drew in a breath, fighting back the overwhelming sense of panic. It would pass. She’d be fine. She focused on her breathing, tried to turn her attention to the switches, but she couldn’t even think past the panic.

Cole looked up from the board he was measuring as another set of car lights swooped across the shed. Things were hopping at PJ’s grand opening. The newly paved parking lot off the alley was full. He suspected cars lined the curb out front as well.

He felt conflicted about her success. She’d been so nervous—hadn’t been able to sit still for two days straight, never mind that everything looked like perfection inside. She was especially nervous about her family coming. That he understood. He’d never been more nervous as a pitcher than when his dad had been in the stands.

PJ had also been nervous about that reviewer from the paper. Cole had tried to stay out of her way tonight, working in the shed, but his eyes kept coming back to the kitchen window. He wondered how it was going. If her staff were doing their jobs. If her customers were being kind. Strangely, he felt protective of
her. Surely people would understand any little glitches. It was to be expected on opening night.

But he’d worked as a contractor long enough to know some customers were high on expectations and low on mercy.

Dropping the board onto the stack, he glanced at the window again. The square of light was gone. He frowned. Why would the kitchen light be off?

He skirted the worktable and headed toward the house, brushing the dirt from his hands. When he entered the kitchen, the aromas of grilled steak and garlic teased his nose. Something sizzled low nearby.

“PJ?”

“Cole.” Callie approached in the darkness, sounding frantic. “The electricity’s out. PJ went to the basement to take a look. Do you know anything about it?”

“It’s only out in the kitchen,” someone else called.

“I’ll go see.” This was a disaster. Worse, he thought as he hurried down the basement stairs, she probably thought he’d done something to sabotage her big night.

He found PJ in front of the circuit box, hunched over her knees, a flashlight at her feet. “You okay?”

“Not really—stupid panic attack.” She was breathing too fast. “Can you fix it?”

“It’s probably just overloaded.” He picked up the flashlight and scanned the rows of switches. There. He flipped the switch off, then back on, relieved when it stayed in position.

“That should do it.” He looked at PJ, still hunched over. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”

She inhaled through her nose, blew out the breath, shaking her head. “Can you—check upstairs?”

“Do you need your meds?”

“Please, just—the kitchen . . . steaks . . .”

“All right.” He rushed upstairs. The lights were on. Everyone in the kitchen was scurrying around. A middle-aged guy was chopping away like a madman.

Callie was stirring something on the stovetop. “Thank God! The orders are pouring in.”

Cole checked the oven and found steaks inside. “What should this be set on?”

“Broil. But I don’t know how much longer she had on them. Especially since the oven was off.” Fortunately he’d helped his foster father grill a ton of steaks.

He checked the orders. Another minute on the filet, two or three on the sirloins.

“Where’s PJ?” Nate asked.

“She’ll be another minute. What else can I do?”

“Wash your hands.”

When he was finished Callie tossed him an apron. “Here. Check the fettuccini. It was almost done when the electricity went off. Should be al dente—that means—”

“I know what it means.” First he removed the filet from the oven and set it on a white plate. After checking the order he added a scoop of risotto and a few spears of asparagus.

“Hold on.” Nate drizzled garlic butter over the meat and added a pinch of something green over the top. He tucked a sprig of something into the risotto. By the time he was finished, the plate looked like a piece of art. He set the plate in the window.

Cole found the fettuccini done and pulled it off the heat, then drained it.

Callie appeared with a plate. “Right here.”

He poured the noodles onto the plate, and she followed with a fragrant white sauce and slice of garlic toast. A pinch of Parmesan. More sprigs.

Cole was checking the steaks when PJ rushed into the kitchen. “Sorry, guys.” She peeked into the oven. “Where’s the filet?” Panic edged her voice.

“Relax.” Cole removed the two sirloins and plated them. “It’s already been served.”

PJ pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her eyes were frantic. “That was Maeve Daughtry’s steak. The reviewer from the paper.”